


LOOGY

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's Left-handers Day," Sam announces from behind his laptop. He peeks around it to look at Chuck. "You have a day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	LOOGY

**Author's Note:**

> Random point on the _Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride_ timeline. Don't worry about it right now.

"It's Left-handers Day," Sam announces from behind his laptop. He peeks around it to look at Chuck. "You have a day."

"I forgot about that, but I did know it existed," Chuck nods.

"Happy Hand Day, Chuck."

"Thanks."

"I didn't know, I just read it. I would have got you something."

"Sam you give me things, like, constantly. It's not a real day, anyway." He considers for a moment. "But that never stops being precious as all hell, so thanks."

"What would I even get you?" Sam wonders and starts clicking around. "I remember the left-handed desks at school that nobody used until there was always that one student in that one class. There's left-handed baseball gloves."

"I think I own all the requisite lefty stuff," he goes back to texting Charlie, brainstorming on the case.

Sam digs under papers and books across the table until he finds a pen. He fumbles at writing with his left hand for a while.

Chuck snorts and gets up from the bed, wanders over. Each attempt at writing his name is a little less cracked and unsteady, but Sam just doesn't seem to grasp how to coordinate his hand movement in that direction.

"This is hard. I've tried this a hundred times, it never gets easier."

"That's okay, I feel that way about. You know. Most things. Computer mice and door handles."

"It's very presumptuous of us."

"You know what dirty fucking thing automatically came to mind?" Chuck asks.

Sam smirks up at him. "Handjobs?"

"Handjobs. That, when I do it to you, it must kind of feel normal. It would be weird if I could reach around you, I guess."

"It would be mildly exotic," Sam nods.

Chuck moves behind Sam's chair. It's low enough that he can reach over his shoulder and take up the pen. He pulls Sam's hand over his own and has Sam feel the movement while he writes out **Sam Winchester**. "See, you're pulling instead of pushing when you write," he explains. Then he hands the pen to Sam and covers Sam's left hand with his own. Repeats writing, **Sam Winchester** , helping him through a shaky set of letters, laughing at him.

"Wait," Sam complains when he starts pulling back, "do it again."

Chuck taps his shoulder and motions for him to move the chair sideways so it's easier to hang around his neck.

"It would be better if you sat in my lap," Sam grouches after a few more tries.

"It would be better if you sat in mine, but I wouldn't be able to see," Chuck just keeps laughing at him.

Sam gets better at it, then he pulls Chuck around to sit in his lap, anyway, despite the motel room door being open. They normally show better restraint during the day, when they're hunting.

Cas does eventually wander into their room to see what Sam is griping about so loudly, but he doesn't blink at their arrangement. He just takes the other seat to watch Sam's progress.

He tosses the pen, at last, and it skids across some books. "I don't know why I'm not better at that," Sam's really bothered by not getting little things right.

Chuck pats his hand. "I'm honestly glad you were spared one curse, at least."

"Superstition against the left-handed still persists," Cas agrees. "They are somewhat of a marginalized population." He picks up the pen himself and writes out Sam's name in a clear script.

Then does the same with his left hand.

"Goddamnit, Cas," Sam sighs.

Chuck laughs again. "Which one aren't you that great with? The back-right, right?"

Cas nods, switches hands again. "That's still the least coordinated of the four."

"Um?" Sam sets his chin on Chuck's shoulder.

"Cas is a lefty, too. And a lefty and a righty. He's a lefty-lefty-righty."

"Wait. Your true form? You have four hands?" Sam marvels.

"The one that's slightly higher on my right side has been stiffer since shortly after my creation. In studying battle I was badly wounded and came to rely more on my three other hands. I think it's served me well. That one arm is slightly 'ticky'," he points, "like yours."

"Huh," Sam says.

"But I have no problem with either of the arms in this form." Cas slowly raises his head and blinks at them. Then he puts down the pen. "Excuse me, I just realized something about--" he almost trips out of his chair. "I have to call Charlie," he beats a hasty retreat, digging in his pocket for his cell.

"He just figured out the case, didn't he?"

"Probably. And I can't even write with my left hand."

"Stop," Chuck grabs his hand up to press it flat between both of his own. "What it lacks in quality, it makes up for in size." He lines up their palms again, just to see the difference in height between their fingers.

Sam drops his other hand down to Chuck's lap and runs his fingers up the inside of his thigh. "I've got one hand that's great at pretty much everything," he says low, in his ear.

"The door is open. And with whatever Cas is thinking, we're probably leaving in three minutes. Don't do it."

"Fine," Sam pouts. "We should teach each other how to fight with the opposite hand. It could be useful."

"Yeah," Chuck scoffs, "because you've never knocked someone out with both hands tied behind your back. Even your forehead is a deadly weapon, Sam."

"I don't understand the conversation I just walked in on, but I have to agree," Dean says, stepping into their room. "He's got a wicked head-butt and I've seen people swoon over his hair. You guys can, uh," he swirls a finger at them, at Chuck still sitting on Sam's lap, "have your weird furniture issues later. We gotta get goin'."

«»

Chuck and Claire have to bust in as part of the backup and Chuck ends up having to keep Dean's fallen gun steady on the bad guy's head. Thankfully he doesn't actually fire a shot.

But, weirdly, Sam seems to be a little miffed with him, after, anyway.

"Look," he tries to explain when they get back, "We waited exactly as long as Charlie said we should. If we hadn't gone in-"

"No, Chuck. It's fine," Sam hooks his arm and kisses the top of his head and moves off toward the bathroom. "It's not that."

Chuck snorts and puts his hands up. "Well, what the hell, then??"

"You were just humoring me," Sam accuses, and turns to the mirror to pull grains of glass from his hair.

Chuck is... okay. Lost.

"With the lefty thing," Sam explains when he wedges into the bathroom with him. "You were humoring me. You held the gun with your right. You use your angel blade with _both_ hands. You're so used to everyone else's movements replaying in your head that you're ambidextrous, just like Cas. I bet if we strapped two extra arms to you, you'd be just fine."

Chuck rolls his eyes. He grabs a towel and yanks on Sam's arm until he follows.

He pulls Sam outside, tosses the towel down. "Sit on the curb," he orders.

Sam's trying to keep a neutral expression in place. He finally shrugs and drops to sit. Chuck starts picking through his hair. From here he can just toss the glass into the parking lot.

"You understand why it is that you use your hands - both of them, all day long - and you still can't write with both, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm just not in the habit."

"You've developed muscles differently. You should see me when a gun kicks back in my face, by the way. Like on the Cerberus hunt; you missed it. Because I don't even think about it-- I hold guns like Dean does. It's just what comes naturally."

"Well why _him?_ " Sam challenges.

"It's not much, but he is closer to my height, Sammy," he points out. "And you have no idea how hard it is to give you space when I see through you too much. I feel too connected with you and I risk getting annoying."

Sam finally deflates from his pout. "You won't get annoying."

"Then why are you acting annoyed with me?" he pulls his shirt up to pat a line of blood off Sam's ear from a thin cut. "Pulling the little brother routine with me is an unsettling move, Sam."

"I just! My brain isn't significant!"

"Oh my god," Chuck just shakes his head. "Your brain is utterly singular," he cradles Sam's head and makes him look up. "You're completely remarkable. You know, left-handed people aren't smarter or more creative. That's totally a myth. We do die faster, though."

Sam sits up straight. "That's not true."

"Yeah it is. It's rough living in a righty world. I reach out for things, sometimes and forget they're not there. It's as easy as that to slip and fall and die," he snaps his fingers for emphasis and continues diligently picking glass out, as if he were preening Sam's feathers.

Sam suddenly clings to his legs. "You are _not_ dying before me," he declares.

"We are _not_ doing that," Chuck worms away and moves behind Sam. "We aren't talking that nonsense. There's no point. Nobody knows when that shit happens or if it's ever permanent. I was just making a joke anyway."

"It's not a joke! I don't even know all the things that aren't built for you! I wouldn't even know what to consider. Other than, like, scissors."

"It doesn't matter. Like you said, I spend plenty of time looking through other eyes. It isn't quite am...bidext...erity? Is that how you say it? It's not quite being ambidextrous, but it does kinda count."

"But you use your left for most things. Because you've built up those muscles," Sam points out. "So you go for things on your left, first. Things that might not be there," he frets.

Chuck sighs and pulls Sam back against him, handles his neck, turns his head up. "You know what's on my left side, now? Constantly? _You._ You and your big hands, in the habit of rescuing people. I am not at all concerned. I promise," he palms Sam's face and gives him one of their uncoordinated upside-down Spiderman kisses. "You can do something for me if you're gonna hang out on my left all the time," he offers.

"Anything," Sam breathes, that striking devotion in his eyes, again.

"You can hold my hand." Chuck leans down to kiss him more. "And watch your goddamn elbow."

Sam finally laughs. "I'll try."

Chuck goes back to picking the glass out of his hair and they have a conversation about can openers and three-ring binders that positively changes Sam's entire worldview.

**Author's Note:**

> ([x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Lefthanders_Day)) ([x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Left-handed_specialist))


End file.
